


you're like a fire the world can't tame

by timelxrd



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, First Dates, One Shot, PWP, absolute filth, highly based off of THAT SCENE in atomic blonde, i said what i said, im so sorry, thasmin, thirteen tops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 21:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21105914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelxrd/pseuds/timelxrd
Summary: The Doctor scans through the crowds for familiarity, capturing her rogue-painted bottom lip between her teeth in silent anxiety before she catches a flicker of a wave from the ever-bustling bar. Yaz catches her eye through the dim lights like a lighthouse during a storm — but these swirling winds and surging seas aren’t one to shy away from, rather contain in the space between their ribs until touches melt and form in unison.





	you're like a fire the world can't tame

The music thrums and beats and vibrates through the panelled floor of the club, neon lights drowning the shifting room in bright greens and blues and pinks, engulfing dancing and chattering forms. 

The Doctor scans through the crowds for familiarity, capturing her rogue-painted bottom lip between her teeth in silent anxiety before she catches a flicker of a wave from the ever-bustling bar. Yaz catches her eye through the dim lights like a lighthouse during a storm — but these swirling winds and surging seas aren’t one to shy away from, rather contain in the space between their ribs until touches melt and form in unison. 

_ She really ought not to be thinking about kissing Yaz before their second date is even underway. _

The Doctor ambles over to Yaz’s place at the bar, heeled boots clicking. She’s a little unsteady on her feet, so she’s grateful to hop into a stool at her side. Under the light of a rainbow sign which hangs above their heads, she takes in Yaz’s attire with intense curiosity. 

Glistening with tiny specks of gold like stars in an expanse of night sky, Yaz’s short, tight-fitted dress hugs her form in all the right places, the neckline exposing the gentle slope of her torso. It clings to elegant curves and soft swells with a slit just under her chest, emphasising the definition of her upper stomach muscles and sending the Doctor’s mind into a burning spiral. She takes a swift inhale when she catches dark brown pools watching on in smug amusement. 

Clearing her throat, the Doctor waves over the nearest bartender. “White wine for me, a lemonade with ice for the lady.” 

“You pay attention,” Yaz teases, gaze flickering over her date’s deep emerald green suit and accompanying plain white shirt, then lingering on the broach engraved with endless circles settled over the Doctor’s collar. 

“You know me — I take pleasure in the details,” the Doctor drawls, exchanging their drinks for a couple of notes and insisting the young boy keeps her change. As soon as he disappears with a grateful smile, her gaze is quick to return to Yaz’s own, heady and excited. “You look — gods, Yaz, you look gorgeous.”

A sign on the far wall reads _ everything you want is on the other side of fear. _Yaz clutches at the words, treasuring them in her thoughts. She takes a breath, but then the Doctor compliments her as though she’s some kind of god and her courage slips and warmth spreads up from her exposed neck. She smiles genuinely, wide and unbidden. “You don’t look too bad yourself, Doctor. Very dapper.”

When she reaches out, brushing her fingertips against the broach under the Doctor’s chin, she _ definitely _registers the slight shiver the motion elicits. “I love this.”

The Doctor swallows, drawing her glass to her lips once Yaz’s touch has fallen away. She takes a sip, scrunches her nose, then takes another. “Thank you. It spells ‘faith’.”

“Didn’t have you down as religious, Doctor,” Yaz copies her movements, taking a refreshing sip of her ice-cold beverage. 

“Oh, I’m not — not really.” She drags her fingers through styled locks, which fall in gentle waves around her slender neck. “But faith can refer to many things,” she continues, tilting her head. The instantaneous effect of alcohol encourages her to scratch an inch, so, lightly, a smooth palm settles against Yaz’s knee. “My faith in you, for example.” 

“Didn’t have you down as a smooth-talker, either.” Goosebumps dot the flesh beneath her burning fingertips and Yaz takes another sip of her drink if only to keep her temperature high enough. Her lipstick stains the rim of her glass, and upon observation, she wonders how it would look smudged against pale flesh. “You’re full of surprises tonight.” Yaz pauses, then, fingertips grazing over the Doctor’s own against her knee. “You didn’t even spit out your wine this time and accuse it of personally offending you.” 

“Yasmin Khan, that was _ one _ time.” 

Their conversation, alike their subtle touches and affectionate gazes, flows like a river downstream during a dry spell, gradual and easy. Neither knows who moves closer first until their barstools are mere centimetres apart, features even closer. 

When Yaz finishes off an anecdote about the awkwardness of her first kiss and their laughter slows to quiet huffs of amusement, the Doctor tilts her head, turning her body in her counterpart’s direction. “Yaz?” She quips, garnering her attention straight off the bat — they’ve barely broken eye contact all night. “I’ve been dying to ask you a question.”

“Mm?” Yaz hums, wetting her lips when the Doctor lifts her free hand to dance the pads of her fingers along her strong jaw. “What is it?” she whispers as though she can’t read the Doctor’s shift in energy, the dark eyes burning into her bottom lip. 

_ There's no need to ask, babe, _

_ I'll give it all to you. _

The crooning, sultry tones spilling from speakers above are all the courage the Doctor needs, because, tentatively, she closes the short distance between them with a curious kiss. 

It’s as though her whole body is suddenly alight, flames licking at the pit of her stomach the second Yaz responds in kind, in intrigue, in interest. 

_ Your hands are sweating _

_ When did this room catch fire? _

_ Is it that good? _

Yaz hums when the Doctor sweeps her tongue along her bottom lip, then lets it retreat in a teasing flit of motion. The hand on her knee tightens its hold just a touch, short nails grazing her bare skin and sending ripples of tingling anticipation down her spine. 

The Doctor breaks the kiss first, popping the bubble they’ve found themselves in if only to rest their foreheads together. Panting breaths fall in unison, eyes blinking in the slow realisation of a boundary they’ve just crossed. When music overwhelms their senses again, the blonde presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Yaz’s lips. “Let’s go someplace quiet.”

Consenting nod received, the Doctor interweaves their fingers and leads Yaz from the bustle of dancing youths. There’s graffiti against the walls of the corridor she finds, and in seconds, it frames Yaz’s form. 

Yaz gasps as her back hits the wall, but not because it hurts, no, — it’s because the Doctor fixes her with an expression anew, pupils dilated, chest rising and falling a beat quicker than usual, lips lifting in a hungry little smirk.

“You gonna stare at me all night or kiss me, Doctor?” Yaz murmurs breathlessly. It seems to do the trick because suddenly there’s a thumb grazing her lip, smudging dark red lipstick over her cheek and chin, and a solid body against her own. 

The Doctor claims her mouth with renewed passion, keening quietly when Yaz threads her fingers through her hair and draws her closer for more. She slips a hand between their entwined forms, flaying her fingers over the exposed skin of her midsection to trace defined muscles. She’d been fighting the urge all night, each time Yaz laughed and the skin there visibly clenched making her knees weak. 

They burn against each other like asteroids meeting in the depths of space. When tongues twine and battle to give way to teasing nips of teeth against swollen lips, Yaz grasps for the Doctor’s belt-loops, dragging her hips forward to rest against her own in a firm, moan-inducing roll. 

Yaz has a slim thigh hooked over the Doctor’s hip and lipstick making trails over her neck when a bartender opens the door to their right, takes one step through it, then quickly backtracks. She laughs against the time lord’s shoulder, gently nudging her hand from her thigh when it begins exploring further, despite how badly she wants it. “Doctor — think we better move this to the TARDIS, don’t you?” 

“The — thewhat?” the Doctor pulls back, hair dishevelled, pupils glossy, lips stained and bee-stung. She looks undeniably flustered and it makes Yaz’s thigh tighten instinctively around her hip. The time lord huffs out a hot breath against her neck, hips jumping. 

“TARDIS, Doctor, before we’re arrested for public indecency,” Yaz giggles giddily, regretfully peeling herself away and straightening out her dress when the blonde seems to finally take in her words. 

“You’re a police officer — you could just arrest me right now,” the Doctor drawls into her ear when they wind and dodge through the masses, each step displaying them in the glow of different neon lights. 

“Should’ve known you were into that,” Yaz teases, shooting her counterpart a filthy smirk when she stammers at her side, lips parting and cheeks flushing as though she’s been caught out. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

As soon as they step outside, the drop in temperature hits with full-force. Yaz tucks close to the Doctor’s side in the hope her body heat and proximity will keep her warm enough, but the Time Lord notices — of course she does. Within seconds, her deep green blazer is curled over Yaz’s shoulders and there’s a hand searing into her lower back with gentle, guiding pressure. “She’s parked at the end of the street,” the Doctor notes, dropping a kiss to Yaz’s temple. 

The minute they’re inside, Yaz is whirled around and pressed against the door with playful hands. The Doctor’s hips slot against her backside and she takes her time sweeping natural curls over Yaz’s shoulder, replacing its light presence with the curve of her painted lips. Yaz sighs her approval when her tongue glides over the sensitive skin of her neck, lost on her taste until wavering sighs melt into soft whines. 

Yaz reaches back, bunching her fist in the Doctor’s shirt. The movements send the blazer around her shoulders to the floor, revealing more skin worth exploring. Swiftly, the Doctor has those exploring hands pressed against the door, watching the muscles of her arms flex. “God, I need you.” 

They only make it to the console before wandering lips and hands stop them in their journey again, but it’s Yaz trapping the Doctor against engineered metal this time. A lever prods into her back as Yaz disperses all the oxygen from the Doctor’s lungs in a fierce, heated kiss. She toys with the buttons of her shirt until the Doctor hums her consent into her mouth, arching into her touch while her own hands glide down Yaz’s sides to her backside, dragging her closer. 

In her new form, the burning in her gut is a different kind altogether and she needs _ more. _More contact, more pressure — she feels like a horny teenager all over again. 

“Bedroom,” Yaz sighs against her lips when one of the Doctor’s hand drops to her thigh, inching upwards. She traps it there between strong legs before she can have her filthy way with her. 

“Yes, ma’am,” the Doctor purrs, breathless, shirt flayed half-open. 

Yaz takes in the sight through darkened pupils, swiping her tongue over her bottom lip before the flash of a smirk and a hand in hers drags her attention away. 

They’re handsy and giddy and giggling all the way to the Doctor’s room, which is immaculately clean despite how busy the bookshelves and tables are. Everything is ordered neatly and expertly, a contrast to the Doctor’s currently tousled state. Yaz doesn’t have time to look around, though, because there’s an ever-present throb between her legs which is only stoked to fierce flames under the Doctor’s piercing gaze. 

“May I undress you?” the blonde whispers, voice catching and dropping in tone at the last second. Yaz holds back the noise bubbling at the back of her throat. 

“Please,” Yaz replies just as quietly. She can’t restrain her gasp when the Doctor swiftly turns her around to find her zip, and really, it’s awfully distracting having her so close. 

“I love this dress,” the Doctor muffles against her skin when she presses her lips to her shoulder. She works the zipper of her dress down, teeth grazing her shoulderblade when Yaz gives a teasing wriggle against her. Once unzipped, the black dress pools at her ankles, where Yaz has already slipped her heels off. “Oh my _ Gods,” _the Doctor gasps, because Yaz had foregone a bra and her back muscles shift and flex with the new freedom of movement. “Yaz, you’re going to be the death of me. Give a girl some warning, huh?” 

When Yaz laughs, the Doctor does too, albeit a little breathily. 

“Stop staring and let me have my turn_ , _ Doctor,” Yaz teases, sparing a glance and a grin over her shoulder. 

In an instant, the Doctor has Yaz turned around again, and her gaze drops to explore the rounded swells of her chest and the pretty, polka-dot laced material of her underwear. She’s speechless for the first time since they met, dark eyes boring into revealed flesh. She’s so distracted she misses the brush of Yaz’s fingertips against her skin when she unbuttons the rest of her shirt, then untucks it from her suit trousers and slips it free from her shoulders. 

The Doctor’s black meshed bralette leaves nothing to the imagination. While Yaz works on the fly of her green trousers, the time lord leans in to press her lips to her collarbone, hands on her waist, fingertips scorching a path towards her chest. 

The Doctor watches Yaz’s features in intense curiosity when her thumb grazes a soft peak, catching the sight of fluttering lashes and the desperate little whine which slips off her tongue. 

“God, you’re making this hard,” Yaz huffs playfully, fingers fumbling with her fly when the Doctor repeats the motion again like a puppy discovering something new. 

The Doctor smirks, licking her lips. She uses her free hand to gently ease Yaz’s own away, making quick work of wriggling free from her ankle-grazing slacks. “You can’t blame me for wanting to appreciate art when I see it.” She catches her lips at the same time as she flicks her forefinger over the stiffening bud again, swallowing Yaz’s moan. “And I’ve always —” she mumbles between kisses, backing her slowly towards the queen-size bed in the middle of the room, “ — taken a more —” another kiss, tongue swiping into her mouth, “ — hands-on approach.”

Yaz tumbles into plush bedding with the elegance of a fallen angel, natural curls fanning over dark blue sheets in a halo-effect. The Doctor climbs on after her, nudging her knees apart with naturally cool palms. The temperature difference makes the form beneath her shiver, which the Doctor feels when she settles between her legs. 

The skin-on-skin contact makes her head spiral when Yaz quickly discards the Doctor’s bra from her chest, arching her own in a quest for more. 

The Doctor ducks her head, lips closing around a dusky nipple while deft fingers draw patterns on her thigh. That’s all it takes for their experience to turn from soft, exploring touches to writhing movements and harsh, loud gasps. 

The Doctor hooks a leg over Yaz’s thigh a matter of minutes later, trapping it against the bed so she can shift and manoeuvre until Yaz’s other thigh is gripped over the Doctor’s waist and cores meet through dampened underwear. 

Groans fall in unison, the Doctor’s head dropping to Yaz’s shoulder when she gives an experimental roll of her hips. It’s as intoxicating and mind-numbing as she’d expected — because, she’ll admit, she has thought about this more than once. “_Yaz.” _

_ “ _ Oh my God, _ Doctor,” _Yaz cries, clutching at her shoulders, then her back, then her hips as though she can’t decide where to settle them; where to apply pressure; where to draw her impossibly closer. Her thigh muscles flex against her, egging her on. 

“Yaz, look at me,” the Doctor commands against her, drawing her head back to level their gazes when their hips build a slow but firm rhythm. She groans when Yaz takes incentive from her movements, but she still craves more. Undulating her hips in a firm grind, she trembles at the new angle she finds. 

It’s a sight to behold — the Doctor, moaning and rolling her hips against her in increasing rhythm with a faint sheen of sweat coating her forehead and petite breasts. Yaz leans up into a sitting position, curls an arm around her hips to keep her in place, and hold her gaze when she leans in to wrap her swollen lips around one of the Doctor’s light pink nipples. 

“You’re so good,” Yaz purrs against her, earning a clumsy jerk of the Doctor’s hips and a wavering whine. She throws her head back, emphasising sharp collarbones and slender neck. 

“I need — god, I need you so bad,” the Doctor groans when the barriers between their forms get too much to take, back arched into Yaz’s mouth while filthy moans and gasps fill the space between them. “I need _ more. _I need to feel you.” 

Yaz sighs into her skin, pulling back to capture her lips in a messy kiss. “There’s nothing stopping you.” 

When they draw apart, the loss of contact makes both of them twitchy and hurried to solve their problem. Ruined, the Doctor tosses her underwear aside and tangles up with Yaz a second after she’s done the same. 

This time, when the Doctor climbs halfway into Yaz’s lap, hooks her leg over her hip and swollen flesh moulds together again, she lets a filthy, throaty moan melt against Yaz’s lips.

“God, that’s — that feels — it’s — I’m —” the Doctor stammers, catching Yaz’s bottom lip between her teeth and tugging. A well-angled thrust leaves her counterpart clawing at her shoulders and back, enticing another groan. 

“Me too,” Yaz simply breathes through a laugh, the sound wavering on a moan when the Doctor continues to aim and hit the spot she now knows sends Yaz’s brain to putty. 

When stars begin to gather in the corners of her vision, the Doctor ups her pace tenfold, chasing her release with desperate gasps and groans. 

She reaches up with the hand not clutching at Yaz’s thigh like an anchor once both are too breathless and wound up to speak in full sentences, drawing her closer to clash lips and teeth together. 

“I’m — Yaz — I’m,” she groans against her lips, thighs aching and thrusts turning jerky and clumsy. Yaz picks up her efforts, then, grasping at the Doctor’s backside to encourage her own movements. 

“You’re incredible,” Yaz gasps, heat shooting to her groin at the look it draws to the Doctor’s face. “You’re so good at this, you’re so beautiful — you feel so good pressed against me like this.” She leans in, swirling her tongue around a stiff nipple, resting a hand over her abdomen where her muscles start to twitch and clench beneath her palm. “Are you going to come for me?”

A long-winded jumble of words fall past her lips when the Doctor begins teetering on that glorious edge, her free hand dipping between them to work her fingers in needy circles against her clit. She comes with a cry of her name and something else which _ definitely _ isn’t in the english language, back arching in a perfect bow. 

Hips kicking and jerking with aftershocks, the Doctor lifts her head from Yaz’s shoulder and worries her bottom lip. “Wait, did you —”

Yaz’s cheeks flush with colour and she presses a gentle kiss to the corner of the Doctor’s lips, tasting the salty tang of sweat on her tongue. “Almost — it’s okay, though — that was… that was _ something else, _Doctor.”

“Uh-uh, just — just give me a minute, okay? Then I’ll make it worthwhile, I promise.” The Doctor shifts, untangling their forms. She gently eases Yaz onto her back, gaze scorching into her own when she kneels between her legs.

The sight has Yaz trembling in anticipation, tiny sparks of electricity igniting her to her very core. That is until the Doctor does _ that, _and Yaz’s whole mind explodes. 

She slips two fingers past her lips to lather her tongue over them in long swathes. 

“Fuck,” Yaz moans, swallowing thickly. The curse sounds foreign on her tongue but sends renewed heat straight to the Doctor’s core. “That’s so hot — but what are you —” 

“No talking, just… just _ feel_,” the Doctor purrs, slipping slick fingers free to inch them along Yaz’s thigh instead. She moves, laying down on her stomach in the space between her legs. “Although I do have to ask — how do you feel about penetration?”

The words slip from her tongue in such earnest and respect that Yaz almost laughs — in all her time aboard, she never thought she’d keep a straight face saying something like that. 

So, hips twitching, Yaz arches a brow. “I’ll put it this way — if you don’t have those fingers inside me in the next three seconds, I think I might internally combust.” 

“Pretty succinct answer there, thanks, Yaz. Ten points,” the Doctor quips before ducking her head to suck at her thigh and absolutely devote herself to the task. She sinks two fingers into her core with ease, giving a couple of experimental thrusts before Yaz groans in frustration and she truly gets to work. 

She’s so wound up already that by the time the Doctor’s mouth closes around her clit in the most perfect way possible, she comes with a drawn-out, guttural moan.

But the Doctor doesn’t pull back right away, too drunk on the taste of her to refuse her another two earth-shattering orgasms from her mouth alone. 

“Oh my god,” Yaz gasps when she comes for the third time, clinging to the Doctor’s form even after she’s settled on her back beside her. “I can’t feel my legs.”

The Doctor laughs, hearty and playful and happy, pressing a series of lazy kisses against Yaz’s shoulder. “That was the plan.” She slinks an arm over her hips, nestling closer. When Yaz slips a hand between them to ghost her fingers along the Doctor’s thigh, apparently insatiable even while she can hardly feel her muscles anymore, the blonde catches her wrist and interweaves their fingers. “Hey, hey, round two can be saved for tomorrow, okay?”

“Promise?” Yaz proposes, leaning in to capture her lips in a dazed kiss. 

“Promise,” the Doctor leans in, smoothing her fingertips along her jaw in an affectionate caress. “I have a whole drawer of surprises to test out before we leave this room, Yasmin Khan”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!!!!


End file.
